


Disappointing Dad

by TellMeNoAgain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Nothing Good Inside, Omega Verse, Parent/Child Incest, Piss Play, Seriously check the tags, Unredeemable, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Jeranasblog requested a Starkercest A/B/O fic where Tony catches Peter smoking cigarettes and has to punish him.I wrote it, and sat back, and stared at my hands.Yup.  Going to the special hell.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 219





	Disappointing Dad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jerana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerana/gifts).



> Ok, kiddos, if you didn’t UNDERSTAND the tags, get out.
> 
> If you read the tags and think I don’t mean THAT kind of incest or urination or spanking, get out.
> 
> If you read the tags and your eyes got big and your sense of self preservation left for places unmarked on a map, GET IN THIS GUTTER FULL OF FILTH WITH ME.
> 
> Special thanks go to the TW cheering session over in Writer Buddies Discord server. I’ll add the invite link tomorrow in a comment- I’m on my phone and phones suck for posting stuff.

_Fucking Flash_ , thought Peter resentfully, his arm caught in his dad’s stupidly strong Alpha grip. He glared at the stumbling beta beside him, who was staring at Tony with his jaw dropped, shocked. _Yeah_. Lots of people looked at Peter’s dad that way, shocked into submission. It was mostly Dad’s scent but also, well- his personality, his physique, the way his face was splashed on the covers of AlphaTimes and Forbes like he owned the world and the rest of the people walking around were just living on it.

Peter coughed, again, and scowled as the sound made his dad’s shoulders tighten.

“In here,” growled the alpha, as the door to his private study slid open silently, because JARVIS was a fucking traitor, too. “Kneel,” he commanded, and Peter rolled his eyes as he fluidly sank to his knees, hands on his thighs, head bent, the perfect picture of the omegan ideal of submission to a higher authority.

Perfect picture except for his curled lip, he conceded with a matching internal sneer.

In contrast, Flash’s crash to his knees and uncoordinated fumbling tumble looked ridiculous and like a _mistake_ , from beginning to end. The little jerk didn’t even know what to do with his _hands_ , thought Peter with frustrated exasperation, watching Flash twitch them together and then fling them apart, shove them behind his back like he was trying for a penitent’s position, and then creep them forward because it was obvious that the punishment hadn’t _started_ yet.

_Why had he let the beta goad him, in the first place?_

Peter could cry, he really could. Sometimes he was so damn stupid.

“Call- what’s your name, son?” asked Tony in a hard voice.

“Eugene Thompson,” muttered Flash, his scent going embarrassed. Peter sneered. It _should_ , what an absolutely slick-witted name.

“Call Eugene’s Alpha, J,” said Dad.

The room filled with the sound of a dial tone, as Peter struggled not to cough again, tasting the sour flavor of the tiny cigarillo with each exhale. He hoped Flash’s tastebuds were dead for a _week_. He hoped Flash’s lungs were filled with tar that he’d cough up for a month, and realize how _fucking stupid_ he was. He hoped-

“Yes?” asked a deep, unfamiliar voice, obliviously curious and badly feigning disinterest. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stark?”

“Your son has created a problem, and he would like to beg for your assistance in making restitution,” said Dad fluidly. Flash flinched and then hunched further, his hands beginning to tremble. 

_Yeah, how do you like them apples?_ thought Peter giddily. He’d _told_ the other teen there would be consequences, he’d _said_ things would get nasty. But _nooooo_. Flash Thompson was a big beta boy, so smart and clever and-

The long pause was ended by a cough and then a hushed, strained, “Eugene?”

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” said Flash miserably, his voice choked now, not by the gagging and coughing of earlier, but by tears. Peter felt a very small spark of sympathy for him, and then rubbed it out viciously.

No. Flash deserved everything he was about to get. _Flash_ was the instigator. _Peter_ was the poor little lost omega, just doin’ what the beta told him to do.

He needed to get his story straight, before Dad started digging down for any dirt.

He’d only stand half a chance if he could believe it himself, first.

“I’ll stand for him,” said the unfamiliar alpha, at last, sounding reluctant. 

Even Peter winced at that unenthusiastic response. Okay, Dad was a lot of things, but he’d fucking _fight_ another Alpha- any other Alpha- who tried to take his rights to Peter or Harley or any of his pups away.

Dad stepped back and perched on the edge of the desk. “He was smoking my cigars-”

“Cigarillos,” corrected Peter, before he could help himself. What the fuck was _wrong_ with him, today? He was already caught in the act, what, did his mouth want him _obliterated?_

“Thank you, _cigarillos_ ,” growled Tony, not even skipping a beat, acting like Peter was assisting him with all the ease of an alpha who never lost face, ever, no matter what. “With my _omega son_.”

There was the quiet sound of breath exhaling and then the question, “In your home?”

“In my home,” agreed Tony.

“Without-”

“Permission or knowledge,” agreed Tony.

“He’s not of age,” informed the Alpha.

“I didn’t think so,” said Tony grimly. “He also was not invited.”

Peter shifted but let it stand. Tony hadn’t invited Flash, and that was true, and certainly an _omega_ had no rights to invite anyone into their home, and Flash _knew that_. He was old enough to know and follow those social rules, they weren’t little kids.

There was another sigh and then, quietly, “How much damage was-”

“The omega has not yet been seen by a physician,” Tony stated firmly. “My first concern is to get your son away from my property before further damage can occur.”

“Eugene, did you _touch_ that omega?” demanded the Alpha.

Flash shifted guiltily. 

_For fuck’s sake_ , thought Peter, exasperated, pressing his lips together. 

Tony’s hand shot out and he lifted Flash’s chin with a heavy, pinching grip. “Did you _touch_ my property?” he demanded.

“Y-yessir,” whispered Eugene, and Peter felt the air leave his lungs in a whoosh of hurt breath. _No, no, no, no, no!_ he wailed in his head, pressing his lips together and trying to breathe deeply. _You’re supposed to tell them no!_

“How?” demanded the unfamiliar Alpha with disgusted frustration evident in his tone.

“I- he-” stammered Flash. “He smells so good- I just-”

“He’s the one I’ve been telling you about, Dad,” said Peter, finally, trying to keep his tone calm and full of I-am-a-sweet-innocent-omega. “The one who touches me at school, pushes me into the wall, plays with my hair, says I’m too pretty for high school.”

Well, what Flash had said was, “You belong barefoot and pregnant on the end of my cock, begging me for all the rest of the babies I keep in my balls,” but Tony already knew that and if Eugene’s Alpha didn’t know he’d raised a foul-mouthed boy, well, Peter wasn’t going to be the omega that informed him.

“Is this the one that keeps threatening to knock you up without my consent?” demanded Tony harshly.

Well, so, of course Dad was going to go there, thought Peter, mind racing now. Because if Dad was going there- what possible motivation could he- oh, of course, Flash’s _mom_. His mom and her inherited real estate. Of course. Of course Dad had researched all of that, doing background checks. Of course- fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And Flash and Peter had just given him carte blanche to do his worst. _Fuck_.

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Peter replied, in his dopiest, drippiest I’m-just-a-lil-omega voice. His dad wouldn’t be fooled, he knew that, but maybe he’d earn some points for playing on the side of the home team, this round.

“Christ,” swore the Alpha on the other line, and Flash shuddered. Well, he should. This was gonna be one hugely expensive double-dog-dare, Peter acknowledged with a flip of his stomach. Huge.

“Eugene?” demanded the Alpha.

“Yes, Alpha,” breathed Flash, sounding ill.

“Honestly, you can keep him,” grunted the Alpha, and Peter watched as Flash swayed forward, his hands clenching behind his back, and yeah, good call on the fully penitent pose, thought Peter. “We’re going to lose more than he’ll ever be worth, today. You have that nasty reputation, Stark.”

“Thank you,” purred Tony, leaning back on the desk even more. “But I’m not currently running a landfill for your trash, Alpha Thompson. Have someone here to pick him up within the hour. He’ll be waiting in the kennels out back. A recording of this conversation is currently being lodged with the Council-” made of people Dad pretty much owned, Peter noted with one last spark of meanspirited glee “- and we’ll be sending a doctor’s assessment of damage to my property as well as the trespass with intent to destroy property value, and the theft of virtue and cigarillos.”

“You are within your rights,” said the other Alpha heavily, formally, conceding _everything_ without even an attempt at protest. Not that there was much he could protest, in those charges, thought Peter. There’d been plenty of witnesses to the multiple times Flash had run his mouth about Peter.

The call disconnected and Flash took a gulping breath.

“No matter how good my son smells, and I’m aware it’s impossible to live with,” crooned Dad, scooting along the edge of the desk until he was directly in front of Flash, reaching out to once again lift Flash’s chin, “you don’t _touch_ what’s mine. You don’t _think_ about touching it. Although if that Alpha of yours doesn’t bust you down to omega himself this weekend, I’ll be shocked. He oughta get some use out of you, for what you’ve cost him today.”

Flash’s breathing shattered into quiet, fearful whining and whimpering. Peter felt a vicious snarl lift one lip. _For God’s sake_ , he thought, trying not to telegraph any response at all, _at least **pretend** to have the balls you were so proud of earlier today._

“J?” asked his father.

“Steve will be entering momentarily to escort the intruder to the kennels to await pick up,” said JARVIS smoothly.

 _Traitor_ , thought Peter again, his skin crawling. He concentrated on his breathing, on keeping his body pliant and willing, on keeping his expression blank and vacuous, as I’m-a-lil-omega as possible.

Steve entered the room, said, “Stark,” and then scruffed Flash, dragging him backward and out of the room with no acknowledgement of the yelps or cries.

The door shut and Tony said, “J, I am busy for the next couple of days.”

“You are, sir,” agreed JARVIS blandly.

Peter’s heart, which he had almost gotten to a calm and steady beat, sped up wildly.

_Days?_

_Days?!_

“Is the doctor-?” began Dad, sliding across the edge of the desk until his shoes were knocking against Peter’s knees, now, knocking and sliding them just a little further apart, making Peter’s thighs strain.

“Enroute, entering-” the door opened, and quiet footsteps echoed through Peter’s soul. 

The door closed.

“Smoking, omega, really?” sighed Dr. Banner, dropping his bag on Dad’s desk.

Peter winced, and then cursed himself.

Dr. Banner crouched and said, “Open wide.”

Peter opened his mouth and gagged as Dr. Banner shoved a long cotton-tipped stick into his mouth, rubbing it vigorously on all surfaces. “Breath stinks, devalued, temporary,” he muttered.

“Noted,” said JARVIS. Peter’s cheeks flushed. 

Dr. Banner deposited the mucus test in a tube and collected another one, shoving it up Peter’s nostrils, making his eyes water as he twisted and twirled it. “Loss of sense of smell, no doubt, easily claimed,” he muttered. “Lots of precedent for scent-masking. Omegas don’t get cigarettes, little boy,” he scolded Peter harshly, slapping Peter’s nose with a firm hand. 

Peter’s eyes, already leaking from the irritation of the test, spilled over with tears, now. “S-sorry,” he hissed. He just barely managed to prevent himself from correcting the doctor with _cigarillos_. Some part of him clearly _was_ actually hoping for obliteration today, _dammit_.

“Chest scan?” Dr. Banner asked hopefully. 

“Already completed. Irritation clearly visible, as well as throat redness,” confirmed JARVIS.

“Bundle it all, there’s proof evident enough in all of this, Tony, for one hell of a case of property damage against that beta,” said Dr. Banner firmly. 

“In my _home_ ,” growled Tony.

“I know, I know,” placated Dr. Banner, rising. “Do you need any assistance with heat-inducers at this time? Ego suppressants?”

Peter felt a sudden shift from mild to flat out panic and tried desperately not to show it.

“No, Peter knows what he’s in for,” growled Tony, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

Dr. Banner lifted Peter’s chin and said, “Eyes up, omega.”

Peter lifted his tear-blurred vision up to the doctor in entreaty. “That was _very very_ naughty,” chided the doctor.

Peter felt his heart race even faster, but he couldn’t help gritting his teeth and snarling a little, too. It was his body. His right to- to- _damage_ it. If he wanted. The laws were archaic things, holding people to codes of conduct that didn’t- didn’t reflect _reality_ , he wanted to argue. Dad was just making a big deal about it because he wanted some of the Thompson lakeshore in restitution.

The doctor tilted his head and said harshly, “I don’t know, Tony, I think- a cocktail might be a good idea. He doesn’t _smell_ contrite.”

“I sincerely doubt once we start drugging him for compliance, we’ll ever stop,” sighed Dad. “So let’s not plan to start unless we need to. Let’s give it an old-fashioned solution, first.”

“Well, call me if you need me,” said the doctor doubtfully.

“Will do,” agreed Dad.

The doctor batted Peter’s nose with a hard hand, again, and declared, “ _Naughty,_ ” before leaving them alone, the door whisking shut on heavy silence behind him.

“Naughty, huh?” asked Dad mildly.

Peter sat silently, concentrating on his fingers, keeping them lax and calm on his thighs.

“Because _blatantly disobedient_ is what springs to my mind, son,” said Dad, again, in that deceptively mild voice.

Peter struggled to keep his lip from snarling, to keep his body from tensing, and it showed as his breathing sped up.

“Oh-ho,” crooned Dad. “I’m _right_.”

Damn the man for having such a keen mind and sharp eyes, for noticing every single little detail, thought Peter resentfully, giving in and frowning. 

“Strip,” ordered Tony, his voice hard.

Peter’s breathing caught on a cough, and he looked up, wildly, at his Dad’s face. There was nothing there, no inch of give, no flicker of kind, patient understanding. Just stone implacability.

Peter lifted his hands from his thighs with all the graceful omegan confidence he could put into the gesture, the movements as smooth as silk fluttering against skin, staring at his father as he slowly caressed the thin tank top up over his abs and chest and shouldering out of it with what he knew was impossibly sinuous grace. His dance teachers, his acrobatic instructors, the omegan yogi, they all cooed about the grace he’d inherited from his mother. 

He tossed the shirt onto the floor nearby and then tossed his head, rising from his knees with the same fluidity, knowing it was sassy and unable to prevent himself from letting his hips roll, just a little bit, exaggerating how _different_ they were, his father’s hard lines and thick muscles, and Peter’s sinuous, trim form, so flexible even under the stress of his father’s angry regard. He slid the thin linen skort down his hips, wiggling them to make it fall to his ankles, covering his bare feet briefly before he stepped out of it. He stood nude before his father steady and sure, chin lowered in submission but not- not deference, even he could tell he wasn’t actually being deferential, not with a display like _that_.

“You think that’s gonna help your case?” chuckled his dad, and shame and anger bloomed in Peter’s chest, making him toss his head again, lips still curved in a frown.

“Don’t know if you noticed,” said his dad lightly, sliding one shoe-clad foot in between Peter’s thighs and twisting, forcing him to reposition his feet to a new legs-apart stance or fall, “but the doc wants me to put you into permanent heat until you lose those pesky brain cells I gave you, baby boy.”

Peter swallowed sudden fear. “Yes, Alpha,” he whispered. 

“I’m still of the belief that’s the wrong call,” his dad told him lightly. Peter took a deeper breath, letting his chest rise and fall on that truth, so relieved he was spun dizzy with it. “I like my omegas with a little spirit in them,” he continued. “Your mother was spirited. Used to love chasing her down, love that she had the brain cells to make it interesting and fun, love the way she wouldn’t submit for just any cock that jutted at her. Same with Harley’s mom, and Pepper. So I think it would ruin you, to burn out your brain.”

Peter breathed easier and easier, feeling his body sway slightly toward the comfort of the man, reassuring him that his worst nightmare would not play out today.

“But,” said Tony, his voice hardening, the sudden ice of it freezing through Peter’s veins, too, freezing the air in his lungs as he looked up into his Alpha’s stony expression, “I’m aware my mindset isn’t matched by most of the world, Peter. It’ll take careful searching to find you an Alpha, anyway, one who meets all my demands, and one who’ll value you like _this_ , well-” his foot kicked Peter’s legs further apart, as Peter began to panic again, “- that’ll make my job harder. The doc’s just looking to make my life easier, Peter. And if you want to keep that beautiful, brilliant brain, you’ll work a little harder to make my life easier, too. Starting _now_ , son.”

The room rang with those words, as Peter shivered.

“I’m going to go sit down, and get back to work, and you’re going to think of every _single_ way you can make my life easier, and you’re going to put them- every _single_ one- into practice, Peter,” said Dad quietly. “And then, when I’m done clearing my calendar for the next couple of days, which should take me a few hours, we’ll handle your punishment, and the whole time, you’re going to show me how _grateful_ you are that I don’t just put you out in the kennels with your beta schoolmate. Because if at _any_ point and time, you make my life harder for even one single second, Peter, I may change my mind, about the kennels, about the brain, about whether or not I want to keep an omega who isn’t a testament to my line under this roof, is that clear, Peter?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter thought wildly, his chest heaving. Okay, so, clearly the cigarillos were a step too far. Clearly he’d miscalculated, and this was the kind of double-dog-dare he _shouldn’t_ have taken, he’d crossed way too many lines, here. Way too many lines.

“Peter?” prodded Dad, adding, “Making me repeat myself isn’t the best start.”

“It’s clear, Alpha,” gasped Peter.

“Mm, I’ll believe you understand it when you show me you understand it, little genius omega,” said his dad cruelly, getting up and rounding the desk, sitting heavily on the chair and calling up a screen.

Peter’s mind whirled, actively trying to think of what he could _do_ , what he could- what could he _do_ , to show Dad he got it, he was going to be _so good_?

His gaze wandered the room wildly, catching on the small wet bar set into one corner. Right. Water. His dad might be thirsty. He tried to move as gracefully as he’d been taught, because Dad didn’t like an ugly, twitchy, jerky omega. He wanted his omegas poised and beautiful in the middle of a train wreck, Pepper had once laughingly told Peter, her bright face shining with mirth and her hands wrapped around her huge belly, full of the whelp who would one day become Morgan. So Peter tried to move as gracefully as he’d ever been taught to move, towards the wet bar, pouring his dad a tall glass of water as silently and as unobtrusively as he could, gliding back to the desk and leaving it in a cleared-off spot within arms’ reach and letting his gaze bounce around the desk. He took the empty plate away from the edge of the paperwork and carried it over to the sink, uncertain what to do with it but certain he wanted to build up as much credit as he could. 

“No, no,” said Tony irritably, and Peter startled, whirling, eyes wide, to see his dad jabbing at schematics, a video call open in front of him. “I won’t be able to give approval until next week. Yeah, I know, but something’s come up, and you’ll just have to call the suppliers and tell them to push it back. I know it’s a marketing nightmare, but that’s exactly why we pay the marketing mavens ridiculous money. Make them make it disappear. I don’t care, Beck, make it happen,” he growled, and jabbed at the red button. He took a deep gulp of the water and set it down, muttering, “So far, just making it harder, Petey. Fresh water versus finances, you’re still in the red.”

Peter felt his heart leap to his throat again, and looked about wildly for another thing he could do- there were books open, on a side table. Someone had come in for some research and just left them. He scampered over as quickly as he could and closed them, carefully reshelving them.

He hung up three coats, then, scattered around the room, hung them on hooks on his father’s suit rack, behind the door, so that someone could take them back upstairs and put them in his dad’s closet. His dad always came downstairs impeccably dressed but by lunch had his coats off and his sleeves rolled up, even on office days, Peter knew. 

Peter tidied and straightened and organized the whole room, quietly frantic. “Making the maid’s life easier,” muttered his father, as Peter ducked under the desk to check for the mate of the shoe he clutched in his hand.

Peter turned, and the heady Alpha scent of his dad filled the small space under the desk, making his mouth water slightly.

Oh, oh, now _there_ was an idea. Making his dad’s life _easier_ , making his dad’s life _better_ , now _there_ was an idea, thought Peter, his heart pounding in his chest. He gripped the shoes and shoved them together in the back corner of the desk and carefully repositioned himself under the desktop, trembling hands reaching out for the waistband of his father’s slacks.

“There ya go,” murmured his dad, shifting slightly. “Now you got the idea, omega.”

Peter’s heart hammered, because he’d seen Pepper do this, Pepper, and Harley’s mom, and he vaguely remembered his mom, too, sliding to her knees before Dad, mouth open eager and wide. He opened the catch on the pants and shifted cloth until he could draw out his dad’s soft cock, the scent of Alpha musk under the desk nearly overpowering. He shifted his weight on his knees, uncertainty weighing heavily. What if- what if he did it wrong? What if- what if it- 

The chair creaked as Dad looked down at him, head cocked to one side. “Well?” he drawled. “Thought you were onto something there, Petey.”

Peter swallowed and nodded anxiously, and then whispered, “Yes, Alpha, I only- I want- will it help?”

“Won’t know until you try,” said his father firmly.

Peter felt himself blush under the continued censure in Tony’s gaze. “Yes, Alpha,” he said, aiming for meek enough that he was making Tony’s life _easier_ , and stretching himself out, carefully, moving himself closer and closer until his mouth was near his hand that was holding his father’s heavy cock, and the musk was making drool build up in his mouth faster than he could swallow it. God, it smelled so _good_ , comfort and safety and the heavy tang of something more than either of those.

_Alpha._

It was the easiest thing in the world to slide it through his lips, let it hang heavily on his tongue, roll it gently against the roof of his mouth. His dad shifted, just a bit, leaning over Peter’s head to continue to work, and then his dad’s hand came down, gently, to touch Peter’s hair, slide down and touch his cheek, too. “Don’t suck,” Dad commanded in a harsh voice. “I can’t be distracted, that’d make clearing my schedule hard.”

Peter nodded silently and began to swallow the drool almost immediately, his nose tickled by the thick hair with that small convulsive motion.

He didn’t use his brain much in the following fast minutes that ticked by, his nose full of Alpha musk and his mouth full of soft, lax Alpha cock, concentrating on swallowing and swallowing all the drool that pooled in his mouth. He was startled out of his daze by his father’s hand coming down, first to stroke through his hair and then to grab it harshly, pulling him up and off. He whined- he was _trying_ to be _good_ for Dad, he really was- why wouldn’t the man just let him be _good?_

“Shh, we’ll get to that. How good do you want to be, right now, Peter?” asked his dad, in a voice almost gentle. “Can you be as good as your mother was, son?”

Peter tightened his jaw. He could be three times as good as his mother was. At least! “Yes, Alpha,” he tried to say smoothly, but it came out slurred.

“I don’t want to run down the hall, but you gave me all this water, son,” said his dad, and Peter looked up blearily. He dad quirked a crooked grin and said, “And you know, it may seem archaic but it’s one of the oldest ways to mark an omega…” his voice trailed off as Peter tried to put thoughts together again.

“I can be… good,” he said thickly. He could be _so good_.

“Good boy,” murmured his dad, releasing his hair. Peter slumped back down, slurping at the cock clumsily, his head bobbing as he gathered it back up gently with his lips and tongue, settling it in his mouth. His dad’s hands came down, pressing at the seal of his lips to his dad’s cock, and then his ears were full of Alpha growl, to match the musk in his nose and the tangy, heady taste of Alpha on his tongue. “Swallow,” groaned his dad, his Alpha command impossible to obey, and so when the first hot jet of acrid acid hit the back of Peter’s tongue, he did as he was told, and _swallowed_.

It kept coming, and he’d seen Pepper and Harley’s mom do this, at formal events, for Dad, he knew- knew it was just- just what an omega was _for_ \- knew- knew that-

Peter swallowed, and kept swallowing, feeling his cheeks fill and collapse in rhythm with his father’s hot stream, feeling it burn down his throat and slosh in his stomach queasily.

“There,” sighed his dad at last, when Peter’s eyes were watering, releasing one last spurt of liquid and sitting forward, as if eager to dive back into clearing his work. “That’s a good start on _easier_ , son.”

Peter closed his eyes and tried to suck away the nasty flavor with the tangy scent of Alpha.

“Na-ah,” corrected his father, hooking a thumb into Peter’s mouth to break the seal. “No sucking.”

Peter heard a low whining noise and realized it was coming from _him_ just in time to stop it before the Alpha got angry with him for interfering with his concentration. Dad needed to work- he needed- to clear his calendar- to make time for Peter, for dealing with Peter, for- Dad needed to deal with Peter.

Yes.

_Alpha._

Peter closed his eyes and nuzzled against the thick patch of wiry hair, seeking to cleanse his palate with the heavy musk of Alpha. His dad chuckled and slid the thumb out of Peter’s mouth, patting his head once before shifting forward and giving his attention to his work.

Peter didn’t suck. And he didn’t lick. He let the man work, and swallowed drool.

~~~

Eventually, the cock in his mouth began to stir, becoming stiffer and stiffer, thickening, and then jumping, in his mouth. “Ahh, fuck, kid,” said Dad, wrapping his huge, scarred hands around Peter’s skull and first pulling him closer, and then shoving him back, hard. “Off,” he demanded in a chiding tone. “Bad boys don’t get their Alpha’s pleasure, do they?”

Peter stared up at him, aware that he was in disgrace- had been in disgrace- had done something _wrong_ , but unable to remember what or- or how. His stomach ached, distantly. He’d done- _something_ \- though. Something very bad. “Do they?” repeated Dad, in a harder voice.

“No sir,” said Peter automatically, looking up for approval, the approval he’d get for the right answer, the approval Dad always gave him if he-

Tony’s face, however, was grim. “That’s right, they don’t. And you were very _very_ bad, and you’re just a little bit too brainless for any attempt to address that, right now. Stand up,” he ordered with the growl of an Alpha laced through the command.

Peter stood, as gracefully as he could, unhurried, exactly as he’d been taught for years, his body moving more out of muscle memory and instinct than conscious control. He felt good- well, his stomach ached, but he felt _good_ , otherwise. This was like those times when they’d played _Red-Light/Green-Light_ when he’d been very young, Peter in sneakers and shorts laughing with Harley as Dad had said, “Green light,” and they’d run forward, towards him, only to have to crash to a halt when he called, “Red!”

He’d loved those games, those silly games, and how they’d filled up his head with this same fluffy, floating, otherness. How by the time he’d ever caught Dad or been caught by Dad, swept up in those arms, he’d felt so _good_ and _safe_ about everything.

Peter remembered those games, standing up, for the way his muscles felt just like this- a little bit leaden and weightier, his bones pulling new liquid grace from him because gravity- or maybe the chill in the air?- made him move so slowly. 

“Do you see that corner, there?” asked Dad. Peter looked where he pointed, and then nodded.

“Go put your nose to that corner, there,” prompted Dad in a careful voice.

Peter swayed, thinking of it, thinking of being so far from Alpha, so far from Alpha’s cock. He shivered, and Dad said, with just a little bit of a growl, “Go!”

Peter went, sneezing once as his nose touched the corner, feeling the plaster warm against his skin and the cool chill of the rest of the room slowly settle across his back and butt and legs as he pressed his nose to the corner and thought more and more with each second of those games he’d played with Dad, all those years ago, and how they’d made him feel floaty and safe.

Dad didn’t play those games with their Alpha siblings, or the Beta ones, Peter thought, slowly. He played other games with those siblings- games of tackle and pin, of herding strategy and cooperation, games of strength and agility and cunning. That’s what had made his games with just Peter and Harley so special, when they were younger. Only he and Harley got _Red-Light, Green-Light_ and _What Time Is It, Mr. Wolf?_ Only the omegas got to share Dad’s short lunch break every business day, shouting and shrieking with delight when he scooped one or the other up, shouting, “The better to _eat_ you with, my dear!” if he was Mr. Wolf, the other omega boy usually dancing at the starting line, laughing and laughing because they were _safe._

Only Harley remembers the day Peter tripped him, while they were running away from Dad shrieking with laughter, and how Dad had stepped over Harley and snatched Peter instead, shaking him and shaking him, both of them laughing. Harley had pouted and then pounced, tackling Dad by the knees, and they had both climbed on top of him, wiggling with glee at their victory. Dad never got caught, not in the games they played with him, Dad _never_ got caught, he _always_ caught one of them or- rarely- both of them, but he never got caught by them. 

Peter's breath quickened as he remembered that euphoric sensation, Harley’s arms wrapped tightly around him as they laughed down at Dad, underneath them, how he’d snarled and snapped playfully at them, making them squirm and wiggle and giggle and shriek. How Harley had suddenly gone still and stiff behind him, hands dropping to Peter’s hips, and asked tentatively, his voice cutting through all of the merriment, “Dad?” and how Dad had snarled again and his hips had jerked up, rocking them both with the motion.

Peter remembered that last day of lunchtime play, those long years ago, and wonders in a vague kind of way why only omega children play the _Red-Light, Green-Light_ game with their Alphas. And why had Dad never played freeze tag with them? Or Shadowlands, or The Floor Is Lava? Why only those three games, _Red-light Green-light, Captain, May I?_ and _What Time Is It, Mr. Wolf?_

The corner felt confining, now, and Peter rubbed his shoulders on either wall, feeling the plaster against his skin with a frown. The scent of Alpha was still strong, still heady, as Peter whispered, “Captain, may I?” quietly, to himself, remembering how Harley had always shouted, “Captain, may I take three jolly green giant steps?” when it was his turn to ask first, always, even when Dad would huff and roll his eyes and say, “That _again_ , Harley?”

And how dad had always praised Peter’s ingenuity, when he picked something different and new _every single time_ it was his turn to shout first.

“What?” murmured his Dad, behind his back, still at the desk. “Did you say something?”

Peter shook his head and bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to. He’d just been caught, remembering. Kid’s stuff.

Why- why had he been remembering all those kid’s games? he asked himself. What- how could that be important, here and now? He was- he was in trouble, right? He’d- something- God, his stomach ached. He needed to _go_ , too. How long had he been in this corner, thinking about _kid’s stuff_? How long would Alpha keep him here? Maybe- maybe he’d forgotten Peter?

“Alpha?” he ventured, quietly. Respectfully. He was in trouble. Because- because of Flash, yes. Flash, daring him to- and he’d said, no, he really shouldn’t, but Flash had _pressed_ , taunting him, calling him an _Alpha’s bitchboy_.

“Yes, Peter?” murmured Dad, behind him.

“I gotta go,” muttered Peter, tapping his toe to the floorboard nervously. “I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely. “I don’t- I just- I’ll come right back, I’m _sorry-_ ”

“You should be,” replied his Dad absentmindedly. “Go, and then come right back here.”

Peter eased out of the corner, gratitude enflaming his body and mind again, making it hard to remember what he was doing- why- oh, yes, his body. He had to- “Thank you,” he gasped, stumbling just a little as he crossed the room to the door.

“Peter,” said Dad, and Peter whirled, heart racing, to look over at him wide-eyed. “Yes, Alpha?” he whined.

“Be quick,” ordered Dad, with extra Alpha growl in his tone.

Peter lost his voice and nodded, quickly, earnestly, before turning and fleeing through the door and out into the hallway.

He raced to the nearest restroom, and released his bowels with a sigh of relief, shocked at how sick and shaky he felt, this far from Dad. He always wanted to stay close, when he was in trouble, when he- what _had_ he done, again? Why couldn’t he _remember?_ His hands were trembling as he washed them, some part of his mind worried about whether or not he was going _fast_ enough to earn back Alpha’s approval. 

“Hey, you better get going,” said one of his dad’s guards as Peter crossed quickly back to his dad’s office. “You don’t belong out here. Not like _that_ , anyway.”

“No, I know, I know that,” muttered Peter, flushing, his anxiety ratcheting up again, hands reaching for the doorknob several feet away. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, as he opened it.

“What have you done _now?_ ” sighed his dad at the desk, looking up with an exasperated frown.

Peter fell into the room and pushed the door shut, collapsing against it. “I don’t- I don’t-” he stuttered.

“Ahhh,” said his dad, smiling a little, sitting back. “Well, I’m done with this bit. I’ve cleared my schedule, just for _you_ , son.”

“Thank you,” breathed Peter, his heart hammering.

“Come here, omega,” intoned his dad formally, gesturing to the side of the desk.

Peter tried to be graceful, but his limbs still weren’t working right, shaky and shocky and sick. Dad stood as he stumbled, and rounded the side of the desk as Peter reached it, putting an arm out to steady himself. “You’re not wearing any clothes,” his Dad chided.

Peter shook his head and pressed a hand to his stomach, shocked to feel skin. “N-no,” he agreed. He shook his head. “I don’t- Dad- I’m in _trouble._ ”

“You are,” agreed his Dad firmly, wrapping his hot hands around Peter’s biceps. “You are in _big trouble_ , omega-mine. Is that why you’re so cold, now?”

 _Cold_. Yes, that’s what Peter was feeling. He was _cold_. He looked up at his Dad, lips parted to ask, “What- Dad, what did I do?”

“You were very naughty,” his Dad said calmly. “You disappointed me.”

The words hit Peter like blows, and he blinked back tears, bewildered. “I did?” he asked. “What-”

“Are you ready to take your punishment, omega-mine?” asked Dad.

His hands were hot on Peter’s arms, branding their way into his flesh. “Yes,” breathed Peter. “But what did I do?”

“You let a beta in, Peter,” said Dad in a deep, rumbling voice that filled all of the empty spaces in Peter’s head, echoing. “You let him in, and you gave him my things, my _cigarillos_ and my _lighter_ , and you let him fill up your body with _my smoke_ , Peter. _Mine_ , for _me_.”

“No,” gasped Peter, horrified.

“But yes,” chided Dad, shaking his head mournfully. “You did those things, Peter.”

“Alpha,” breathed Peter, his eyes stinging with the tears trapped there. “Alpha!”

“And so now it’s time for your punishment,” said Dad, his face falling into sad lines, _disappointed_. “You know I don’t want to do this. It’s going to hurt me more than you.”

“Please,” whined Peter, feeling his lips tremble, trying to fall forward, toward the comforting smell of Alpha, Alpha who played with him and tucked him in at night, Alpha who- who-. “Please, Dad, I’m so cold, I’m so-”

“We’ll heat you up, next,” promised Dad, with a strange smile, holding Peter back with his strong hands. “But first you have to take your punishment, omega-mine.”

“Yes, yes, please, Dad,” begged Peter, feeling the tears overspill onto his cheeks. “Yes, yes, whatever, yes, Dad.”

“Bend over the desk,” said Dad, “and show me how much you mean that _whatever_ , son.”

Dad’s hands, so warm, released him, and the cold air rushed to kiss the heat from the flesh, making him shiver. He stumbled as he spun, and crashed to the desk with a little _oof_.

There was the sound of movement, and then a hot hand pressed into his back, steadying him. He tried to press back up into it, but Dad growled, “Still. Hold still, omega-mine. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, but _it must be done_.”

Peter whined soundlessly, pillowing his head on his forearms.

“I can’t-” growled Dad, and the first smack from his father’s callused palm landed, emphasizing the phrase and jolting through Peter with a shock that had more to do with the totality of his disgrace than the shock of the pain that followed “-believe-” another smack, and Peter was already whimpering, so cold, and suddenly so hot, where his father’s hands touched, leaving behind a rippling wake of pain “-that we have to have this _chat-”_ another smack, emphasizing the snarled word, “-again-” smack “so soon.” Smack- _smack_. Peter mewled into his arms, thoroughly ashamed, his toes pushing up until he was one long line of tension bent at a ninety-degree angle over the desk.

Dad emphasized his words with heavy hits from his hand as he continued, warming Peter in one spot and one spot only, now- Peter’s upturned ass- as he growled, “We _just_ got Harley through his first heat, is that what this was? Angry that someone else had my full attention, and hell-bound to snatch it for yourself? Is that what this is, omega-mine? Well, the joke’s on you, I know how to turn a profit out of any obstreperous omega, and I’ll make a mint today, off of Alpha Thompson, _and_ knock you back where you need to be _and_ I won’t break a sweat doing either, Peter. I really won’t. Is that what you wanted, Peter? My _full attention?”_

Peter was choking, hopping and dancing to his father’s hand’s rhythm, choking on air and the scent of Alpha and the sensation that he _had been very wrong_ , and now needed to make it right, somehow, make it all better. The cold air clung to his skin, making him shiver and shudder on the desktop as his father waited for his answer. He couldn’t remember _why_ he’d done those things- let Flash into the house, let him- given him Dad’s _things_ , why had he done that? 

_You let him fill up your body with my smoke, Peter_ , echoed in his mind. Had he done that? He had. He remembered the smell of it, coating his nose, how he’d coughed. 

He coughed now, on tears and shame, and sobbed, “‘m sorry, ‘m _sorry_ , Alpha. Please!”

“You should be,” said his dad harshly, and Peter cried out with each of the next several blows to his butt, jerking and shuddering, chest heaving against the desk. 

“And aren’t you _cold_ , right now, omega-mine?” asked his Dad, suddenly, as Peter gasped in great lungsful of air around the whines and sobs that escaped back out.

Peter’s teeth began to chatter and he whimpered, “A-aalpha.”

“So cold, omega, isn’t the world _so cold_ for an omega who won’t be useful and easy, who won’t make their Alpha’s life easier, Peter? Isn’t it _cold?”_ asked his Dad, sharply.

The trembling made it hard to keep his toes planted on the carpet, and the chill in the air made the next slapped handprint blaze like fire long after Dad had lifted his hand again.

Peter’s stomach clenched again, and he hunched over it, the pain shocking.

“Almost there,” muttered his Dad, taking a deep lungful of air that Peter could hear, even over his own whimpers and sobs. “Peter,” he said, in a growling, stern tone, “don’t you want to be good, now, to earn your Alpha’s warmth?”

Peter felt wetness trickle down his thigh in a sudden gush and cried out as his stomach clenched again.

“There you go, omega,” crooned his Dad, the hand on Peter’s back suddenly releasing him, although he laid there, chest heaving for air, crying and gasping. “There you go, showing me what you want, what you need, you _want_ to be good for me, don’t you, omega-mine?”

Peter moaned, “Yess, Dad, yes, Alpha, good. So good,” as another gush of wetness released another sloppy trickle down his other thigh.

“There you go,” soothed his Dad, “That’s it. You’re so _cold_ , omega, don’t you want to be warm?”

“Warm,” begged Peter, shivering, feeling his muscles shudder and shake, trembling and shivering.

Something pressed between his legs, and he blearily identified it by its warmth as his father’s hand, delving inside with fingers- more than one, and less than the whole hand, and he- he couldn’t count- couldn’t- “Daaaad,” he whined, rolling his hips back. “Pleasssse-” as his stomach clenched again, and new wetness coated that hand.

“You don’t feel cold,” commented his dad with a chuckle. “You’re so hot, omega, you’re burning up, if you could feel yourself right now- if any of you could feel yourself, it’s so _funny_ that you all feel so cold, when you’re so hot, under my hands, so _hot-”_

“Y’r hot,” moaned Peter, wiggling his hips back, trying to get more of that warmth, more of his father’s hand, inside him. “Please, Alpha, warm, I need-”

“I know what you need,” chuckled his dad, pulling his hand back and slapping Peter’s hip, making him jump and moan. “And you what you _need_ is to be _good_ , omega. Not _greedy_ , not _attention seeking_.”

“Noo,” agreed Peter, sliding down the desk, pushing himself back against his father’s hot body. “‘ll be good. I _will_.”

“That’s a start,” said his father, clearly amused.

Peter heard the sound of a zipper unsealing, and then rustling of fabric, and then, then- hot flesh, pressed to his wet hole. His stomach clenched so hard he couldn’t breathe, choking again, straining to push back, his whole body wracked with painful tremors.

“Shhhh, be good,” said his dad, one hand reaching up to tighten in Peter’s hair, pulling him up, the other shoving Peter’s hips into position roughly.

“Guh-” agreed Peter, eyes fluttering as his dad pushed himself _inside_.

Peter whined, as the hot heat of his father’s cock spread in little lines of lava underneath his skin, along his veins and muscles, turning ice-cold flesh into a volcanic inferno of fiery need. Every where his father touched- and there were hands, it seemed, all over his back, his chest, playing with his nipples only to slide to his hips and grip there- everywhere the hands went, they traced flame and left hot vapor against his skin, until he was covered in it, covered in wet slick, leaking it and covered in it and-and-

“Shhhhh,” penetrated the fog in his head, Alpha’s deep rumbling purr of satisfaction. “Shhhh, you’re so good for me, like this, Peter. Go on, fuck back, omega, you took your punishment, now take this, too, omega-mine.”

“Take,” agreed Peter, mindlessly repeating the word he most wanted. 

“Don’t need _drugs_ to make you go brainless with heat,” scoffed his dad, and Peter nodded at the tone. _That’s right_ , he thought, agreeing whole-heartedly with the tone. _Alpha doesn’t need anything, Alpha’s perfect._

“The old ways,” grunted his Dad, shoving inside Peter at a new angle, deeper, making him cry out and fuck himself back harder, “are the best ways, in my opinion.”

“Best,” gasped Peter, jerking himself back, thrusting- thrusting on that warmth, making the warmth spread _everywhere_ , in little lines of lava, building up to waves, waves of crashing lava, along his limbs as he- as he-

“Ah-ah-ah,” said his dad suddenly, pulling back, pulling out, taking the warmth with him, the warmth and all of the- of the- Peter sobbed, his hands clenching tightly into fists, his hips snapping back, seeking- “no, omega,” said his father sternly, shocking a cry of fear and shame from Peter. “No coming until I knot. You be good.” Peter sobbed, nodding, ready to agree to anything, if only- if only he could have the warmth. His teeth began to chatter as the shivering began again, his legs thrusting his ass back- back- “There,” sighed his Dad. “There’s the good little omega I raised. So eager to obey, so ready to make everything easier, and better for me.”

“Better,” agreed Peter. “Please, Alpha,” he whined, curling in on himself, trying to generate warmth when he- he couldn’t make his own, he was so _cold_.

His dad chuckled, and slid back in, a volcanic slide that spurted wet warmth through Peter’s veins again, as his dick re-seated itself in the core of Peter. “Good omega,” praised his father, ruffling his hair gently, now, finding that same angle that licked flame under his skin from ass to spine and back down to toes, making Peter writhe back, rocking back to feel it again and again and-

“There, there, there,” chanted his Dad, voice going rough and graveled. “There, Peter, yesssss, good omega-mine, yes, yes- God-”

Peter began to feel the knot and became frantic, as it shoved against his newly-warmed inner skin in all directions, breeding warmth and fire and blocking the wet flames from trickling down his thighs, pooling at his feet, blocking that warmth, sealing it up inside, making him _full_ with it. Peter mewled, as it began to stick, and his Dad gripped his hips, holding him still. “No- no- ahh- no, no moving, omega, be- shhhhh-” he chanted, then, sounding breathless.

Peter rolled his shoulders into and away from the waves of warmth that spread from that too-full space at the entrance to his body. “Goooooood, Alpha,” he moaned. “So- _hot_ ,” he gasped.

“Good God,” huffed Dad, “that’s an _understatement_ , kid. Your heatfever has to be up over 103, right now, God, you’re burning up.” His hands slid up and down Peter’s back, soothing and warm, making Peter arch into their movement with every pass. “Hah!”

The words didn’t mean much, but the tone of approval and delight sunk in with the heat, underneath Peter’s skin. “Daaad,” he whined, rocking back just a little.

“Whoa,” laughed his dad. “Steady! You gotta learn, Peter, the knot’s sensitive, hon. Alphas aren’t gonna like it if you yank it around,” he chuckled. He smacked Peter on the ass and said, “So lie there, omega, and _take it_.”

Peter nodded his cheek against the warm wood of his dad’s desk and gasped air as the first warm spurt of cum splattered inside him, filling him up with the kind of warmth he knew would _stick_ inside him, if only he could get enough of it. He could be warm, he could _stay warm_ , if only he could convince dad to give him _more_.

“Shhh,” soothed his dad, hands skimming over Peter’s back, making him arch again. “Shhhh, omega-mine. I’ll give you more. I know what you need. And you’re being so good, so easy, for Alpha right now. Stay easy, stay good, Peter.”

“Pleeease,” whined Peter, nodding his head. Another spurt, deeper inside this time, and Dad chuckled.

“I cleared my schedule for this heat, son. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get you warmed up, you just stay easy and good, son. You just stay easy and good, for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I WARNED YOU. NO WHINING. 
> 
> I can’t believe you made it all the way through. Proud of you. Go take a bath, ya filthy!


End file.
